


Losing Control

by lifeaftercheckmate



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, post Nameless Faces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeaftercheckmate/pseuds/lifeaftercheckmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sometimes in the wee hours of the morning, I feel so close, as though I could reach out and touch them, but, alas, I own them not.

Rossi

David Rossi glanced at the Unit Chief’s office as he flipped off the light and locked his own. Through the blinds, Hotch appeared to be slumped over his desk, asleep. He knocked on the door, but Hotch didn't stir, so he slipped inside and gently shook his friend.

In one swift motion, Hotch had him pinned against the wall by his throat, index finger and thumb applying pressure to his jugular vein, slowing blood flow to his brain. Before Rossi had a chance to process what was happening, Hotch cocked his other arm back and Rossi saw lights explode in his sight as the other man's fist connected with his face. He raised his hands, palms out in surrender.

“Aaron! It's Dave! We're at the BAU; you're safe! It's okay!” Hotch's arm was cocked back for another hit, but he stopped. Slowly, the haze faded from his eyes and his gripped loosened. Suddenly, he pushed himself backwards, stumbling, eyes wide with realization as he stared at his hands like he had never seen them before. He almost fell, but Rossi caught him, guiding him back to his desk chair. Hotch's head was in his hands and he was trembling as the sobs ripped through him.

“Dave, I...” He couldn't finish the sentence. No words could mend him. Hesitantly Rossi laid a hand on Hotch's shoulder, silently terrified by his friend's uncharacteristic brokenness and loss of control. The room grew quiet and neither man moved for a long moment. 

“Dave...” Hotch let out a breath like years of weariness collapsing inside of his chest. He shook his head. Rossi remained quiet, waiting. Hotch finally looked up, honey eyes pooled with fear. 

“I don't think I can keep going,” he whispered. “It's one thing for us to be afraid of everyone else, but I can't run from what's inside me.” There was long pause. “Every time we enter a building with our guns drawn, I...” Deep breath. “I hope I never come out. I'm not afraid to die; I'm afraid to keep living like this.” Hotch put his head down again, weakened by his confession.

“Aaron, we're going to get you some help. Where is Jack tonight?” Hotch recoiled slightly. Anyone besides Rossi would've missed it.

“Jessica has him this weekend. They're going to the fair tomorrow. I told her I need a few days to pull myself together after...” He couldn't bring himself to say his late wife's name. I had been 4 months and he still couldn't say her name. Rossi gently grabbed Hotch's arm and stood him up to face him. Hotch looked into Rossi's eyes. A bruise was starting to form under the right one. He tried to asses what emotion he saw there. Pain, concern, determination...and something bittersweet he couldn't put his finger on.

“Dave, I'm so sorry.” Rossi nodded.

“I get it, Aaron. Everyone breaks eventually. If it was anyone else...” He shook his head. “But it wasn't. We're going to get you some help. Let's face it, you'll probably always be a hopeless tight-ass, but it'll be okay again. You'll see.” Hotch offered up a small, tired smile. “Come on. You're staying with me tonight, no arguments. Besides, my scotch is better than that cheap shit you have.” Hotch dropped his head back and roared out a laugh, though it wasn't really that funny. Rossi looked at him like he was nuts. Maybe he was hysterical. Whatever. 

He felt Rossi's hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of the office before he had a chance to grab any paperwork, and for once, he just didn't care. It felt good.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know how anyone can claim to *own* such brilliance and beauty as makes up Hotch and Rossi. It is not a claim I dare make, myself.

Rossi's lips were pressed into a thin line. He glared at Hotch reproachfully, but Hotch took no notice. He was certainly a first-rate profiler, but right now, he was also very, very drunk.

“I'll never forget how furious you looked,” Hotch was saying, trying to hold back laughter. “You were absolutely covered in mud and had dog shit all over those damn Italian leather boots you hadn't shut up about in two weeks. And there was the supermodel! What was her name?” Hotch was waving his hands around amiably, scotch sloshing precariously in his glass. He had a huge grin on his face.

Rossi sighed. “Anna.”

“Right. Anna. She just stared at you with her mouth open, and all you could do was sputter about your boots. It was a good thing we had the unsub in custody already or you would've ripped him apart.”

“I liked those boots,” Rossi muttered indignantly. “The supermodel wasn't bad either, if I remember correctly.” He sighed again. “You know, I was trying to get you out of your blind homicidal rage, but chipper wasn't a possibility I had considered. I find it disturbing to say the least.” Hotch snorted.

“Well, we all have surprising sides of ourselves.” Rossi had to agree. If you only knew... 

He was about to reply when Hotch launched into another hilarious tale of a case mishap at Rossi's expense. So, he remained quiet, content to watch Hotch. His former protege was draped lazily over the other end of the black leather sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned. Rossi wasn't sure where the jacket had been discarded. He looked at the other man's hands. Usually still, they now flitted about the air propelled by the scotch, half telling the story themselves. Hotch's face tended to be stoney and his expression was commonly mistaken for anger. Now, Hotch was smiling and his eyes swam with alcohol and mirth. It was quite a change. The sight made it hard for Rossi to swallow over the lump in his throat. Hotch's hair was a mess, bangs falling into his eyes. Rossi fought the urge to reach over and brush them away. No matter how drunk he was, he didn't think Hotch would approve.

Rossi didn't consider himself gay, though he'd had a few drunken nights of experimentation in college. Who didn't? Nevertheless, he couldn't deny what Hotch made him feel. He'd known that Hotch's marriage was failing almost as long as Hotch had, and watched helplessly as it had destroyed his friend from the inside out. Haley's affair had ruined Hotch who was, for all his faults, fiercely loyal. Rossi despised her for it. He found himself reaching out to Hotch more. He didn't make a big deal of it. They were both strong, independent men, after all, and Rossi disdained sentimentality. Since Haley's death, however, he'd been wrestling against himself not to just take Hotch in his arms. He'd always loved the man to some degree, but not like this. This was definitely new. It was stronger than anything he could remember. It threatened to turn Rossi's meticulous world upside down. It had overruled his logic and brought Hotch home with him tonight, despite his fear about not being able to keep his hands off the man.

A hand dropped to his knee, sending shocks through Rossi's body and causing his breath to hitch. Hotch noticed this time and looked at him quizzically.

“Dave?” Rossi cleared his throat feeling uncomfortably transparent. He studied Hotch for a moment and turned away, willing his heart to slow.

“Yeah, Aaron?”

“I asked if you were still seeing the girl from the restaurant.” Rossi cleared his throat again, hyper-aware of Hotch's hand still on his knee.

“Nah. That ended a while ago. Not what I was looking for.” Rossi regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. They begged the question –

“What were you looking for?” 

Yeah. That question. 

Rossi looked back at Hotch, his defenses dissolving. He placed his hand over Hotch's, and regarded the other man intently. Hotch made no attempt to move from under Rossi's touch. His eyes were serious again, his jaw set in the familiar way, knowing despite the alcoholic fog that something important was happening here. Rossi took a deep breath and raised his other hand to brush Hotch's bangs out of his face.

“You. I was looking for you.”


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Oh, the things I would do to these boys if I did own them. *evil grin*

When Hotch woke up the next morning, he was a little dazed from the vast quantity of alcohol he had consumed the night before, and more than a little disoriented by the haze of sleep. His eyes popped open and he looked around the room frantically. This was not his room! Where was he?! He tried to sit up, but there was a weight over his chest. Turning, he saw the sleeping form of his lover and it all came back to him in an instant. He sank back into the pillows, the panic melting away. A small, amused smile played over his lips. Of all people... he thought, running his calloused fingers through Rossi's hair. 

“Morning,” Rossi growled, not opening his eyes. His voice was deep and husky from sleep and the sound sent shivers through Hotch's body. 

“Good morning.” He trailed his thumb from Rossi's temple, across his cheekbone and down to his lips. Rossi squinted at him.

“You're still here,” he said in a slightly patronizing tone. Hotch glared at him, though the smile remained in place.

“Where else would I be?” Rossi pulled Hotch tight into his chest and kissed his forehead.

“Well, I figured you, being the high king of hiding feelings and running from intimacy, would've slipped me something last night to wipe my memory and high-tailed it out of here. I figured you'd have had Garcia erase me from existence by now.” Hotch raised one eyebrow.

“How do you know she hasn't? David Rossi? Who's that?”

“Trust me, Aaron, there are women all over the world that will always remember my name, even if you don't.” Hotch pretended to look hurt, but came up empty on a retort.

“Touche. Please tell me there's coffee around here somewhere.”

“I've been out since before Milwaukee. I was going to pick up a few things last night after work, but I got distracted.” Hotch snorted.

“I'll say.”

“There's a little cafe around the corner. We could grab some breakfast and coffee there if you want.” Hotch took a deep, lazy breath, feeling more rested and...normal than he had in a very long time.

“That sounds good.”

45 minutes later they where seated at a table in front of the cafe waiting for their orders. Hotch had borrowed one of Rossi's sweaters and a pair of jeans and, though it was a little weird to be wearing another man's clothes, he felt very comfortable. He thought maybe he could get used to this.

It was extremely pleasant outside. The sun was hot and there was a small, cool breeze to balance it. Hotch absently wondered to himself when the last time was that he cared about something like that.

Rossi stroked the back of his new lover's hand with his thumb. His eyes focused on something over Hotch's shoulder.

“Hey, isn't that...” He was cut off by a thud and the sound of something falling to the ground. Hotch turned around to see none other than Dr. Spencer Reid sprawled on the sidewalk, book in hand, having apparently just run into a light post. He quickly suppressed the laughter, knowing it would hurt Reid. When Reid had regained his composure, stood up, and brushed himself off, Rossi called out.

“Reid! You okay?” Reid looked up. His eyes darted over to the the table, taking everything in in a split second. He stopped when he saw Hotch and Rossi's intertwined fingers, looking incredibly confused. He shuffled over to their table and plopped down in an empty chair.

“I wish I could say that was the first time I've done that,” he said. Rossi chuckled.

“We just ordered. You want to stay and have something?” he asked.

“Coffee.” Reid looked at Hotch. He was leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, and a small smile on his face. His eyes were miles away. He looked down, but Hotch and Rossi's hands were separated and wrapped around their respective coffee mugs. He furrowed his brow.

“What's with him?” He asked Rossi.

“Oh, probably reminiscing,” Rossi said cheekily and gave Hotch's shin a sharp kick under the table. Hotch started and sat up straight.

“Hm?”

“Reid and I were just wondering what you were thinking about.” Hotch cleared his throat, stalling. He and Rossi hadn't discussed where this was going, much less how much to reveal or hold back from the team. He knew he could trust Reid, but he wasn't ready for that yet. Having it between him and Rossi was big enough. Besides, the team would figure it out eventually if things continued. He ran a hand over his face and shrugged.

“Guess I'm a little hung over,” he muttered noncommittally. Reid didn't look convinced, but he let it go.

“Hangovers are caused by impurities or preservatives in the alcohol, such as other alcohols besides ethanol, which leads to increased urine production and dehydration, which in turn leads to headaches, fatigue, and dry mouth, and while 25 to 30 percent of drinkers are naturally resistant to hangovers...”

Rossi sighed. There went his nice, quiet morning. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he was actually content to just sit in his new lover's quiet presence and listen to his co-worker's awkward chattiness. The weekend would be over soon enough and a new case could come up at any time. He was going to relax and enjoy himself while he could. He grabbed Hotch's hand under the table and gave it a quick squeeze before dropping it again. 

Yes, he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As they say, what goes up must come down. Stay tuned to find out how Hotch royally screws everything up!


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I see pieces of these men inside of me reflecting light like shards of glass. But, as deep as I feel them, I do not own them.

Hotch sighed and rubbed at the pain that had been building in his temples all day. It had been three weeks since he and Rossi had first slept together, and they still hadn't talked about what was going on. Hotch didn't know where this was going but he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that would not let him rest.

Haley had been the love of his life. She was happy by default, laid back, carefree...at least at first. Hotch had ruined that for her long before he got her killed. If he couldn't keep Haley happy – hell, if he couldn't make himself happy – what could he possibly have to give to a man like Rossi? 

For the first time since that night together, Hotch found himself wishing it hadn't happened. The feeling of bliss that had followed simply wasn't real. No, it was better for both of them if things didn't go any further. It was the responsible thing to do.

Hotch had his mind made up by the time Rossi entered his office at the end of the day after the rest of the team left. Hotch could see the uncertainty in his eyes. They hadn't really talked in a few days.

“You coming?” Rossi asked softly, almost pleading, but he already knew the answer.

“I'm busy,” Hotch replied coolly. Rossi started moving towards him, but the look on Hotch's face stopped him in his tracks.

“What's going on, Aaron?” Hotch narrowed his eyes.

“Go home, Rossi. Leave me alone.” Rossi stepped back, looking much like he did after Hotch had hit him in this same office three weeks ago. It hurt Hotch to see what he was doing, but he stood his ground, fighting to keep his face blank. In time, Rossi would move on to someone who could do him justice, someone who wasn't so empty and tired. Rossi looked at Hotch for a moment, and then quietly turned and walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.

I'm at least twice as stubborn as he is, Rossi told himself as he sat in his SUV in front of his house, not yet having gathered the energy to get out and go inside. He hit the steering wheel in frustration. This is exactly why he had been so hesitant to make a move in the first place. Aaron Hotchner was a wonderful, passionate, and loyal man, but goddammit, he was just so dense sometimes. He knew this was a possibility when he first told Hotch he wanted him, and dammit all if he was going to let that man's distorted sense of duty get in the way. David Rossi wasn't going to give up his lover without a fight.

Rossi pulled out his cell phone and pushed the two key for speed dial. Back at the BAU, Hotch's phone rang. Hotch saw who it was and ignored it. Rossi called four more times that night with the same result. He didn't bother to leave a voice mail; he know Hotch wouldn't listen to it.

~~~~~~

At 10 o' clock the next morning, Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss were sitting in the bullpen staring at their boss's office with wide eyes. Hotch and Rossi where in there and Hotch was yelling. He slammed his fist down on his desk to emphasize whatever point he was making. Rossi didn't flinch. It was quiet for a moment as Rossi responded and then he calmly got up and walked to the door. He opened it a crack before he turned back to face Hotch.

“I sure hope you understand what you're throwing away, Aaron,” they heard him say before he walked to his own office and closed the door. Hotch stormed out shooting the rest of the team a look that sent them scurrying back to their paperwork. He needed some air.

~~~~~~

Hotch had been standing outside staring at nothing for a good twenty minutes when Reid walked up.

“Rossi went home,” he said evenly. “Did you dump him?” Hotch should have been surprised, but he wasn't. He took a deep breath.

“He told me he loved me,” he said by way of explanation. Reid was quiet for a moment.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked gently. Hotch gave Reid a withering look, but relaxed when he saw the other agent's face. Reid had no passive-aggressive agenda. He wasn't trying to make Hotch feel guilty or pass judgment. He truly wanted to know what Hotch was afraid of. Hotch thought about it, then looked forward again and replied.

“Foyet took everything from me. I have nothing left to give.” Reid shook his head.

“You're wrong, Hotch. He didn't take your ability to love. You gave that up willingly,” he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “He's dead and you're still letting him win.” Hotch recoiled as the weight of Reid's words hit him. He grasped the railing and leaned over, trying to brace himself as the realization shook him.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, “What have I done?”


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summery: Rossi knows that everyone breaks eventually, especially in this line of work. So, when Hotch finally snaps, he is there to help pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: CBS made them up, I'm just playing out my fantasies with them. *wink*

Hotch knocked on Rossi's door before he could talk himself out of it. It swung open. Rossi did not look particularly pleased to see him.

“Can I come in?” Rossi glared silently for a minute and then stepped aside to let Hotch through. He didn't greet the man. He didn't offer him a place to sit. He just crossed his arms and stood in the living room, waiting. He wouldn't allow himself to be hopeful. Rossi wasn't prone to vulnerability and he didn't appreciate having it thrown in his face so viciously. The things Hotch had said to him in his office that morning were cruel, and though Rossi would never admit it, they hurt coming from Hotch.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair. He had a speech prepared on the way over here, but now that the time had come, nothing seemed adequate. This wasn't going to be easy, but he had to try. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

“Reid was the one who finally got through to me,” he started, mostly just to have something to say. “After you left he found me. I told him what you said...” Hotch swallowed. “That you loved me... Reid asked me what I was afraid of.”

“And what did you tell him?” Hotch shook his head.

“I don't know that it matters, Dave. No words can change what I am. Admitting my fears isn't going to get rid of them. Nothing can undo the damage and make me... Make me good enough for you.” Hotch couldn't look at Rossi. If he had, he would've seen his face soften, his arms unfold. So that's what this is all about. Rossi took a step forward.

“Aaron. You think I don't know? Did you forget I've been through three divorces? Do you think I've never been targeted? I put this unit together in the first place. I was already working this job when you showed up. We've known each other for a long time, Aaron. I know who you are and what you're capable of. I know what you've been through. Do you honestly think I don't know what I'm asking? I'm not expecting a fucking Julia Roberts movie or I would have slept with Garcia.” He took another step toward Hotch. “I want you, Aaron. Faults and shortcomings and all. I'm a proud man. I wouldn't have put myself out there if I wasn't sure.” There was silence again and Rossi could see tears, honest to God tears in Hotch's eyes.

“I told Reid that Foyet had taken everything from me and that I had nothing left to give you. You know what he said to me? He said that I had given up my ability to love willingly, that I was letting Foyet win even now. And you know what, Dave? He was right. Goddammit, he was right!” Rossi closed the distance between them and took Hotch in his arms. Hotch relaxed into him and let the tears come.

“There's a lot in our lives especially that can't be controlled. I can't know that I'm not going to lose you when we go into work tomorrow. But the question you need to answer for yourself, is this: Is what we can have right now worth it? Because that's all that's guaranteed.” Rossi tilted Hotch's chin up so their eyes met. “I love you, Aaron, and I want this. I want you.” Hotch wasn't aware he was holding his breath until his lungs started to burn. He let it out slowly.

“I love you, too.” 

Hotch pushed his lips against Rossi's and kissed him like he'd never have another chance. Rossi returned the kiss fervently, slipping his tongue past Hotch's parted lips. He felt Hotch's body tense at the sensations as he began working his fingers down the buttons on his lover's shirt. Rossi slipped his hands down Hotch's bare waist, hooked his fingers in his belt loops and pulled his hips tight against him. Hotch moaned as Rossi broke the kiss and started to work his way across the other man's jaw and down his throat, nipping, kissing, licking. His knees buckled when Rossi hit the spot between his adam's apple and collarbone. Rossi slipped an arm around his waist, holding him close and upright.

“Shall we continue this in the bedroom?” he asked, smirking.

“I'm all yours,” Hotch whispered.


End file.
